48 The Partridge Family 



lowed. A little of this wise forbearance now and 

 then will do much to keep up the stock of game. 



It was once the writer's fortune to enjoy a 

 month's outing with one of those royal good 

 fellows, a British sportsman-soldier of the genu- 

 ine stripe — a high-bred, accomplished, game 

 man, who has since proved his heroism to the 

 reading world. He had shot in most corners 

 of creation, but he wanted to learn about quail. 

 One day things were unsatisfactory, as they 

 sometimes will be, and a hard morning's work 

 had accomplished nothing. At last the dog pulled 

 up in grand style on my side of the beat. In 

 reply to a hail, the captain signalled to go on 

 and flush. There were but two birds, both hens, 

 and they were allowed to depart in peace. 



" What was the matter, old chap ? " he asked. 

 "You should have stopped that brace." 



" Seed hens," was the reply. 



" S-e-e-d h-e-n-s ! Why, what the devil are 

 seed hens ? " was his amazed query. 



The mystery was explained, and from his ex- 

 perience with pheasants he had learned to appre- 

 ciate that sort of thing, but the term " seed hens " 

 greatly amused him. Every now and then he'd 

 mutter the words over, and his mighty shoulders 

 would shake with mirth. Later in the day there 

 was lively sport and a hot, impromptu race, for 

 both guns were at their best. At last a brief 



